


The Morning After

by TheSSClexa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa Week, Clexa Week 2018, Cringe worthy, Day 1, Doctor Lexa (The 100), Embarrassing moments, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Feels, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Really embarrassing moments, Role Reversal, Yes you read that right, doctor woods, job role reversal, meet ugly, oneshot fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSClexa/pseuds/TheSSClexa
Summary: Clarke wakes up the morning after, she can’t remember much, not even the woman’s name. Taking a peek out the bedroom door, last night’s lay is definitely hot—and, is she making pancakes?ORThe one where Clarke mistakes Lexa for... well, you’ll see.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Happy Clexa Week 2018. Here ya go to kick off the week! 
> 
> Special thanks to @Clexicon for helping beta some of this!
> 
> Mentions of death, minor characters that aren't part of the show.

Her skull was buzzing, like a fucking jackhammer pounding relentlessly. And her mouth was parched, complete cotton as if all she ate were saltine crackers topped with a fine powder—similar to a spoonful of cinnamon.

Clarke coughed.

_God dammit, son of a bitch._

Clarke gripped her forehead, groaning as she regained consciousness, and rolled over with a dull ache, feeling as if she had been leveled with a tractor.

The sheets were nice, soft, and clean. Except, the texture was unfamiliar, which suggested Clarke wasn’t in her own bed, but a stranger’s.

_Ugh, not again._

She promised herself she wasn’t going to do this again. After her boyfriend’s death, Clarke crashed hard like a failed rocket careening towards earth. She hit rock bottom and suffice it to say, stayed there. Clarke blamed herself because she was driving, even though he wasn’t wearing a seat belt and the roads were wet. There were so many factors, different possibilities, in the end though, it was the drunk driver of the Ford F150 who ran the red light directly in front of them. Which resulted in Clarke T-boning the truck, passenger side.

Clarke and the truck driver came out mostly unscathed, all things considering, with scratches and superficial bruises. But her boyfriend died—ejected out the window with zero chance of survival. Clarke continued to blame herself. She should have reminded him to put on his seat belt; although, they were just going a couple miles. She should have double checked the intersection, even though the light was green.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Sometimes, she couldn’t even bear to think his name. They were serious, having been together for three years and going on four. The two met in undergrad and went on to the same law school. But, like him, the last year of law school went out the window for Clarke. It started with just a few weeks off that rolled into a month, then into an entire semester; and now, almost a year and half later, Clarke was scraping by underneath the absurdly high standard of living in San Francisco, working as a bartender down at Fisherman’s Wharf on Embarcadero Street. Clarke gripped the last strand her of autonomy by refusing her mother’s offer to move into her considerable condo in the Mission District, a convenient walking distance to her mother’s work, Sutter Hospital.

Clarke was beginning to regret her decision to refuse mom’s offer. She didn’t want to go back to her small studio apartment—if you could even call it that, more like a glorified bedroom, all 424 square feet of boring, empty, loneliness—hence the constant going out; the drinking; the partying; the sex, however fake.

Except, Clarke had been doing well for the past two weeks in attempt to regain her life. But the sudden urge was too overwhelming, like binging on pizza and ice cream after an unsuccessful diet. Cold turkey was apparently not the way to go, when a glass of wine at home turned in to a bottle, then a Lyft to the bars for more. Clarke was immediately sucked back in—shots, dancing, forgetting. It was great.

Great, solely for the duration of night as Clarke awoke, and offensively returned to reality.

Stirring, Clarke dared to open an eye, content to find moderate shades shielding her anticipated sensitivity to sunlight. She sat up slowly, the bed was empty, but Clarke heard faint clinks of pots and pans just outside the closed door. And _god,_ the smell of fresh coffee almost instantly brought her out of her hangover.

_Hmm, that’s nice of her. Coffee and… is that bacon?_

Clarke wasn’t sure if a stranger had ever made her breakfast before, especially some random hook-up from the bar last night.

Reaching for her phone to gain a remote sense of time, Clarke was met with a black screen. Dead battery. She scanned the room quickly for a charger but was disappointed to find the phone charger wasn’t compatible.

“Uh, damn it. Who doesn’t use an iPhone…?” Clarke mumbled to herself, thinking about the woman she’d slept with the previous night.

Her fogged memory was so blurry, vaguely recalling dark hair, black or brown, about her height, maybe a little taller, and… name?

_What was her name? Shit._

Clarke felt like an ass, recalling her own name that echoed throughout the room last night. Something with an emphasized "A” in it, with a couple of syllables, couple of vowels. It wasn’t a common name, Clarke was sure of that, which made it more difficult. There was something unique… a letter near the end of the alphabet… x, y, or z.

Sliding off the bed, Clarke meandered to the door, completely naked, before quietly cracking it open to scan the surroundings—a modernly decorated living room, a sizable window with a view of the bay. She was elevated, seventh or eighth floor maybe, open floorplan that effortlessly transitioned into the kitchen. And there, standing in the kitchen, she saw the woman she had shared a bed with.

 _Wow, she’s really hot._ Hotter than Clarke remembered from last night.

The woman had long, wavy brown hair that was pulled to one side and _great_ body; her skin was exposed, wearing an olive-green tank top and grey mesh shorts that sat just above her knees. The brunette’s attention was on the stove and flipping something in a pan. Pancakes.

Additionally, Clarke spotted a tattoo that trailed down her hook-up’s back. Clarke didn’t remember the tattoo, but C _hrist_ did it make the brunette considerably more attractive. The dark lines revealed an intricate design that resembled a pair of DNA strands from the base of her neck, along her spine, and disappearing beneath the thin, cotton material of her tank top.

Clarke wanted to run her tongue along it.

Feeling frisky, Clarke exited the bedroom, naked, and tiptoed her way to the brunette and crossed the border where the carpet ended and kitchen tiles began. She reached out, lightly wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist.

“Mmm… Morning,” Clarke moved to nuzzle her face into the side of the brunette’s neck.

“Holy fuck!” the brunette jumped, fumbling the spatula and flipping the pancake into the air.

Quickly, she backed away from Clarke, “Oh my god!” And covered her eyes, “Jesus Christ, woman! Put some clothes on!”

Clarke was flabbergasted at the brunette’s response, completely unashamed of her body despite the daylight.  

“So, you can fuck me all night, but can’t look at me?”

“What?!” the surprised woman retorted, one hand still covered her eyes as she continued to shuffle backwards towards the corner of the kitchen. “What?! No! Nooo…”

Clarke continued without giving the brunette a chance, “Or are you just one of those people who get all weird with a little bit of skin? Hey, I came out into this world this way and don’t give a shit. All about body positivity.”

Clarke embraced her curves and what can best be described as a voluptuous type. “Wow, I really didn’t expect this from another woman, and _especially_ one I slept with last night.”

“Look! Uh…Clarke!” the brunette finally spoke up, eyes still covered but no longer backing away. “Right?”

Well, at least she remembered Clarke’s name.

“Yeah?” Clarke dragged out in a slightly rude tone that hinted of “duh,” mostly to hide her own failure to remember the brunette’s name.

“Just, can you please…” the brunette lowered her voice to a mumble, “God this is so awkward, I thought you had left.” She took a second to rethink her words, “Look, there’s nothing wrong with your body. Not…not that I can tell or see. Seems great. But can you just _please_ put on some clothes?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Ohhh-kay. I still don’t understand, you even told me at the bar you couldn’t wait to get my clothes off…” she said as she reached for the first thing, a zip up hoodie on the back of the barstool that Clarke assumed belonged to the brunette. “Is this yours? Take it you don’t mind if I put this on then?”

“Uh…” the woman’s voice shook, “Sure. Sure, it’s fine. Totally fine. _Anything_ is fine.”

Clarke’s brain caught up, it was usually quick and clever but delayed by the amount of alcohol last night.

“Wait, what do you mean you thought I’d be gone by now? You _left_ me in your own bed?”

The brunette peaked between her fingers; Clarke was now minimally clothed with the hoodie on. _Her_ hoodie, UCLA cursive faded on the front left, but at least the material extended past the blonde’s hips. Barely. She dropped her hand, though it might have even been even worse.

“Oh…oh god, this is…” the brunette winced, “Uh, I don’t know if this is more embarrassing for me or for you.” She then looked down, attempting to gather some composure.

Shrugging openly for an explanation, Clarke replied, “What?”

“Um,” the brunette contemplated. “What’s the easiest way to go about this…?” The brunette then pointed behind Clarke, “let’s just say, that’s _not_ my room, but my roommate’s, Anya.”

 **“Anya** ,” Clarke smacked her forehead in recollection. “That was her name.” — a couple of syllables, couple of vowels, emphasis on the ‘A’, and a ‘Y’.

Clarke felt all the blood drain from her face, completely mortified. “Oh,” she shrunk, like a turtle retracting into its shell. Clarke began to nervously tug at the hoodie to cover more skin, salvaging what seemed like the impossible at this point.

“Oh god, I am so, so sorry,” Clarke mumbled, and began to scoot away towards the bedroom.

Again, Clarke’s memory caught up to her, “Wait, how did you know my name?”

The brunette scrunched her face in more discomfort, “These walls aren’t soundproof…” she still looking down to avoid direct eye contact with Clarke, then squinted her eyes, pressed her lips together, and nodded in response. “Yep...”

“Oh god, uh… sorry, so sorry. I’ll…um, I’ll get going… uh now…” Clarke stuttered, dashing into the bedroom to rummage for her own clothes.

_Oh, my fucking god!!!_

Clarke was beyond embarrassed. This was a first and dear lord, let it be the last. Clarke had mistaken the roommate for last night’s fuck in the worst possible way, pretty much sexually assaulting the brunette, and could only hope she wouldn’t press charges.

After having put on her jeans, bra, top, and scooping up her heels, Clarke swiftly grabbed her phone for a Lyft.

“Fuck!” Clarke exclaimed under her breath, painfully reminded that her phone was still dead and didn’t magically charge itself.

She peeked out the door a second time, the roommate’s attention was back on the stove, restarting breakfast.

As Clarke reentered the living room, she felt it necessary to announce her arrival, “Uh, I’m back and uh…” Clarke returned the hoodie to the back of the barstool, “And… do you…by chance…”

The brunette turned, her large green eyes finally meet Clarke’s and seemed oddly inviting as Clarke spoke.

Clarke had no other option but to ask, “Do you… have an iPhone charger?” Clarke held up her phone. “So I can get a ride?” She grimaced.

“Mm-hm, yeah, I do,” the roommate responded, putting down the spatula.

Clarke’s eyes followed the brunette into the room, opposite of the one she came out of. Feeling stiff and out of place, Clarke searched for a better indication of what part of town she was in. She looked out the broad window at the San Francisco skyline silhouetted against bright, sunny, blue skies, with traces of light, wispy clouds. It was a nice day, like all days in San Fran, and Clarke even dallied with the idea of going to gym before her work shift to restart the day right. Get her blood flowing and endorphins on. Except there’s no way to restart a day like this.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the brunette appeared with a white cord in hand.

“Here,” she said, plugging in the cord for Clarke on top of the small kitchen bar counter.

“Thanks,” Clarke moved slowly to plug in her phone.

Hoping her phone would come on right away, the screen disappointingly displayed a battery outline with a red sliver instead. Clarke felt restrained, unable to do anything but wait. She placed her phone down, then stepped aside to give the woman more space and awkwardly strode between the living room and kitchen. The silence was unbearable, agonizing even, akin to nails on a chalkboard, amplified through speakers. Clarke cringed in guilt, humiliation, and stupidity.

Clarke contemplated running back into the bedroom to hide but found herself staring as the roommate stacked pancakes. There was also a small plate of bacon. Then, it hit her. She was hungry. Her mouth began to water and Clarke couldn’t stop the low grumble that resonated from her stomach like a heavy bass playing a rap song. A rap song titled “Starvation Rhythm Nation.” The rumble in her stomach caught the brunette’s attention, darting an eye in Clarke’s direction.

Clarke swallowed, feeling evermore ashamed and pushed aside her hunger. She watched intently as the brunette smeared a slab of butter on two pancakes that melted and oozed across golden brown and onto the plate, complimented by a couple pieces of bacon.

_I hate myself._

Unexpectedly, the woman placed the plate on the small counter between them and pushed it toward Clarke.

“Um…here,” she said, sliding the food in Clarke’s direction.

“Oh, no. Please, I—”

Clarke was cut off by the most skeptical look, piercing sharp green eyes she couldn’t deny, like Supergirl’s x-ray vision searing right through her. It made her breath hitch and tongue catch.

“You can hug a complete stranger naked, but you’re now too shy eat what she offers you? C’mon. Eat. I have more batter.”

/

Honestly, Lexa couldn’t help herself. Clarke’s blue eyes looked like a stray puppy begging for food at her doorstep, and well, Lexa was a sucker for puppies, and girls. And a girl with puppy eyes? It was game over.

Lexa nearly crumbled when Clarke was standing in front of her stark naked—a dream come true materializing in her living room. It took _all_ of her composure to look away. Clarke was fucking hot. Lexa wanted to bury her face in the blonde’s breasts and bury her fingers in… well, bury her fingers. Lexa was probably never going to wash that zip-up ever again, already fixated on the fact that it touched Clarke’s bare skin.

Lexa wasn’t a stranger to Anya’s one-nighters, having occasionally engaged with a few of her own. The two best friends typically went out together and acted as each other’s wing-woman. With her new work schedule flipped for the month, Lexa worked late last night, subsequently failing to go out with Anya. Otherwise, she definitely would have called dibs on the blonde in a heartbeat.

When her shift ended, Lexa returned home just past 3 am and easily heard the commotion in Anya’s room. Sure, she was happy for her best friend, listening to Anya scream “Clark,” whoever the hell they were— based on the name, Lexa assumed he was a guy. While Anya mostly preferred women, she would sometimes come home with a man. Aside from the blonde being naked, Lexa’s shock was augmented when she realized that Anya’s lay was instead, a beautiful woman.

/

Clarke cautiously slid onto the barstool as Lexa served her a cup coffee, like a waiter.

“Cream, sugar?” Lexa offered.

“Uh, black’s fine,” Clarke responded, already feeling like she had overstepped a million boundaries.

Lexa proceeded to pour some cream into her own cup, “Are you sure?”

“Just a little bit,” said Clarke shyly.

Clarke caught the roommate smirk as she poured. The coffee was warm and welcoming, making Clarke feel less humiliated.

Squirting the syrup, Clarke licked her lips in anticipation, and as politely as she could, sliced into the pancake for a bite.  

 _Fuck, the brunette can cook_.

“Mmm…” Clarke let out a small, muffled moan, sinking into the flavors. It was like an orgasm in her mouth— warm fluffy pancakes that were perfectly toasted on the outside, salty butter paired with the sweetness of maple syrup. They were simply divine. Clarke followed with a few bites of crisp, savory bacon and before she knew it, she had inhaled it all.

Clarke washed the breakfast down with coffee and just as she placed her mug down, the brunette was already topping her off.

Clarke looked up to meet the roommate’s eyes in gratitude, “Thank you.”

The brunette smiled again, nodding as if to say “You’re welcome,” before she sat back down to eat her own breakfast.

While the two strangers snuck glances at each other in a brief moment of silence, they’re interrupted when Clarke’s phone came back to life, buzzing and blipping. Responsively, Clarke got up and scrolled past texts, emails, snaps, instas, and matches to get to the Lyft app to provide her pick-up location. Thank goodness it would be just a short two-minute wait.

“My ride will be here in a couple minutes, so I should head down now,” Clarke said, feeling compelled to tell the woman, who generously waited on her.

“Okay,” the brunette responded, standing to see Clarke to the door.

“Uh, can I offer you…?” Clarke reached for a small wad of cash that was crumpled in her pocket.

“Oh, no thank you.”

“Really, are you sure? It was one of the best breakfast’s I’ve had,” Clarke confessed. “In a long time,” still holding out a few bills.

“Please, it was…” Lexa paused, but decided to drop a line anyway since the blonde uncontrollably yanked the gay out of her. “It was my pleasure,” Lexa said, briefly quirking an eyebrow.

Clarke caught it, “Oh, really?”

“Really,” replied Lexa, kindly walking Clarke to the door.

Clarke replied, “I don’t… recall seeing you last night?”

“I wasn’t out, but trust me, if I were, you’d remember.”

“Oh,” Clarke tilted her head. “Well aren’t you the cocky type?”

Lexa averted her eyes for a second, reaching for and opening the door for Clarke, “Uh, no. I mean, I just prefer the women I intend to fuck, sober.”

“Oh, women you intend to fuck?” Clarke clarified Lexa’s status—very gay, single, and probably not going to press charges.

“Yeah, I like it when they can remember my name,” Lexa smiled lightly and jibed at their situation. “It’s less awkward the following morning.”

Clarke couldn’t help the heat that rushed up her neck and attempted to gather a response, but her phone buzzed in her hand. Her Lyft was here.

“That’s me,” Clarke turned towards the open door.

“Bye,” the roommate voiced.

“Bye.”

/

Clarke placed her face in her hand while walking down the hallway towards the elevator.

“I am the worst decision maker…” she mumbled to herself.

As attractive and generous the brunette was, with the city population approaching one million, Clarke was probably never going to see her again. That improbability allowed her to save some face. Clarke also made a mental note to avoid gay bars for the next few months and switch back over to men to avoid a potential green-eyed brunette encounter.

While getting into her Lyft, Clarke’s phone rang.

“Hey, mom.”

“Hey dear, are you still meeting me for lunch?”

_Shit._

Clarke double checked the time, it was a quarter past noon. She was in no way dressed to go out to lunch with her mother, which completely escaped her mind, and not to mention, she was no longer hungry.

“Crap. I’m sorry mom. I can’t right now. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?”

“It’s okay Clarke,” Abby had always been forgiving and caring. “Late night, I take it?” And little intrusive, but whose mother isn’t, especially one who was a doctor?

“Hey, why don’t you stop by the hospital later? Bring me some dinner?”

“Mom…” Clarke’s tone was incredulous.

For the past few months, Abby had been trying to set Clarke up with dates. And her mother’s pool of potentials- her residency students and she was constantly making excuses for Clarke to visit the hospital to meet them and “Take her pick.”

“Mom, I told you. Stop setting me up with your hospital residents. It’s getting old, and not to mention for the hundredth time, embarrassing?”

“Clarke, honey, you know I just want to help you move on.”

The vehicle pulled up to Clarke’s crappy apartment and she trudged up the flight of stairs.

“I know,” Clarke replied. “Look, Jackson was really nice. We had a nice dinner. It was fine. But I’m just not ready for another relationship. He’s a nice guy, but Jackson deserves better than that, better than me right now.”

As much as Clarke slept around in her state of low, she at least recognized it and felt necessary to get her own shit together before even considering dating. Sure, she missed him, but had gone beyond the state of remorse and into self-loathing and pity.

“Don’t you think _you_ deserve better, Clarke?” Abby echoed.

Just as Abby said it, Clarke opened the door to her studio. It’s dim with a lone grey couch, mediocre 32” inch TV, dated wallpaper, and cheap kitchen counters littered with microwave meals and empty bottles. Clarke sighed. Her mother was right, though she wouldn’t admit it.

“If you’re not willing to come live with me, the please give me this? Plus, it’s not Jackson this time. I have a new resident.”

“Great…”

“She’s only been in the city for a few months and incredibly sweet. I think you’ll like her! You’re still dating girls too, right?”

“Mom…” Clarke groaned. “Yes... girls too.”

“Oh, c’mon, Clarke. Just come say hi?”

Clarke sighed again. She supposed saying “hi” wouldn’t hurt.

Grumbling, “Okay… I’ll stop by before I start my shift at the restaurant, 5:00 okay?”

“Great! I’m so excited.”

“And I’m thrilled,” Clarke replied flatly. “Dinner requests?”

“I like that Thai place by you.”

“Got it, see you then.”

/

Strolling into the familiar hospital, Clarke remembered her days growing up and playing down the hallways, most of the staff knew her by name.

“Evening, Clarke. It’s been a few months since your last visit. Been busy?”

_Not really._

“Hey Margret. Just, been out,” replied Clarke, automatically signing into the visitor’s log.

“Oh, well, it’s nice to see you,” Margret handed Clarke a red and white visitor badge.

Clarke snapped on the plastic badge, “You too,” before continuing with the take-out bag, steaming with white rice, green curry and spring rolls.

Clarke headed to her mother’s office like it was the back of her hand, turning the corner, up the elevator, around and down several other hallways, all while casually sipping on her Diet Coke. She had almost followed her mother’s footsteps and gone to medical school but wanted to make a bigger change in the world. Completing law school was just the first step towards working in higher government and policy. Clarke wanted to be a politician, inspire change through the system—emphasis on “wanted.”

Stepping into her mother’s office, she saw it was empty. Clarke didn’t give it much thought and rolled past the sign, “Dr. Abigail Griffin, Genetics Research Director,” to the floor’s front desk.

“Oh, hey Clarke! Long time no see!”

“Hey, Sam. Can you page my mom for me?” Clarke held up the take-out as obvious reason.

“Sure, sure,” Sam turned to the phone. “Paging Dr. Griffin, your presence is requested at the front desk.”

“So, how’ve you been?” Sam begins the small talk, reminding Clarke why it’d been a few months since her last visit.

“Um, fine,” Clarke replied and quickly sought reason to change the conversation. “What about you?” eyeing Sam’s photo frame, “How’s your new baby?”

“Oh, she’s great! She started crawling just a few days ago…” Sam continued as Clarke feigned attention. She had always been good at this, pretending to listen when really she just wanted leave.

After a few minutes, Clarke spotted her mom approaching with a broad grin. Gosh, her mother must have been excited about the prospect.

“Hey, sweetie. C’mere,” Abby said while pulling her daughter in for a hug.

“Hi mom,” Clarke broke the hug and offered up the food. “Here.”

Abby automatically pulled out a few $20 bills, considerably more than the meal price, but wanted to sneak in what Clarke was willing to take.

“Thanks…” Clarke trailed as she stuffed the money in her pocket and proceeded to nosily slurp the last of her soda.

Clarke witnessed her mother’s eyes spark when Abby’s gaze drifted behind her.

“Oh, and… here’s my newest resident student, the one I wanted to introduce you to, dear,” Abby gestured.

Rolling her eyes and pulling the straw out of her mouth, Clarke turned around slowly with an annoyed slump.

Clarke eyes went wide, spitting the remaining soda in her mouth in a wide spray. Clarke didn’t nearly recovery quickly enough, covering her mouth and wiping her face with the back of her arm, coughing.

“Clarke, are you alright?” Abby patted her daughter’s back.

Clarke nodded but her eyes transfixed in disbelief on the green-eyed brunette from _this morning_.

“Clarke, this is Lexa,” Abby guided her daughter forward by the elbow. “And Lexa, this is my daughter, Clarke.”

Arms neatly folded behind her back, light green scrubs with a white overcoat, Lexa’s eyes gleamed with amusement, along with a curious smirk.

“Well, go on, don’t just stand there Clarke, shake her hand,” Abby prompted.

“Uh, oh… hi,” Clarke stuttered, extending a hand.

Lexa took Clarke’s hand in a warm and reassuring grasp; she had a nice handshake.

“It’s… a pleasure to meet you, Clarke.”

“Yep…” Clarke dropped her hand. “Likewise.” _Not really._

“Lexa just finished medical school at UCLA and moved here a couple months ago,” Abby started for them.

“Oh,” Clarke instantly recalled the UCLA logoed hoodie she had on her bare skin this morning. “Wonderful.”

“And Lexa,” Abby continues, “Clarke’s… at her last year in law school.”

“Mom…” Clarke cursed and sent her mom a glare.

“Well, I’m going to eat my dinner and um, let you two be.” Abby graciously exited before Clarke and Lexa could exchange words.

Saving Clarke from an embarrassing silence, Lexa seemed to embrace the situation.

“Well, now that we’ve been properly introduced, and needless to say, I was a little too distracted this morning to ask, but… can I take you out to dinner sometime?”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile and laugh in flattery.

Chuckling, “Uh, look, I… don’t know how much my mother has told you…”

“Really not much, I didn’t even get a name, which I’m sure I would have remembered,” Lexa jeered. “As soon as she found I was gay, just a few days ago as I recall, said she had a daughter and that’s all.”

“That’s my mother for you. Either it’s not enough information or it’s too much information.”

“Well, she certainly failed to mention how beautiful you are.”

“Oh,” Clarke’s jaw unhinged slightly. “Wow,” her face flushed for a completely different reason aside from embarrassment.

It was one thing to find Lexa’s physical feature’s devastatingly attractive, but now to know she had the intellect and confidence to match, Clarke couldn’t possibly go out with Lexa. She needed to get her life back together, not jump into a relationship. Especially a cute, sweet and innocent resident of her mother’s.

“I’m sorry, Lexa, but I can’t. Apparently, my mom also failed to mention that I _was_ in my last year of law school.,” Clarke clarified.

“Oh,” Lexa looked at her without judgement, “I’m sorry to hear,” and somehow lightened the mood. “If it helps, between the two of us, you’re not the only one who’s dropped out of law school.”

Clarke’s curiosity piqued, “How so?”

“Tell you about it over dinner?” Lexa went full circle.

Clarke’s gaze drifted down again at the ask, deciding. Looking back up with earnest blue eyes, Clarke sighed disappointedly, “I can’t. You’re… so sweet, but I can’t.” Clarke bit her lip, “You don’t want to be with someone like me.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Lexa rebutted each one of Clarke’s arguments with a simple response.

Leaning in, Clarke changed her tone with a tight jaw, “Look, you really want to go out with someone who absentmindedly fucked your roommate last night? I didn’t even remember her name.”

Lexa shrugged. “Anya’s one of my best friend, I trust her judgement. Plus…” Lexa leaned in even more, lips inches away from Clarke’s ear. Clarke caught a whiff of Lexa’s hair along with the warmth of her breath, it was dizzying. “Don’t we all need a mindless fuck sometimes?” She whispered.

Heat surged into Clarke’s core making her stifle a gasp. Clarke turned to meet Lexa’s eyes, they had grown dark and hungry, giving Clarke a glimpse of the seduction, the appetite, the prowess, Lexa was capable of. It lasted for a split second before Lexa blinked it away.

When Lexa was working with charm, Clarke was able to deflect. But _this,_ this was something else that Clarke found less… innocent. Clarke was barely able to resist.

“I’m sorry, but I... I really can’t,” Clarke forced out.

As far as she could tell, and felt, Clarke was a nothing compared to Lexa- a smart, beautiful, successful doctor who could _cook._ Thinking back to her meek studio and barley sustaining job, Clarke had nothing to offer. Nothing but her ruined self. Even more so, Lexa being one of her mother’s residents meant that she was no longer a stranger. Sure, maybe if they had met under different circumstance, like at a bar or club, Clarke would have fucked her like any other one-night stand, like her roommate, like Anya. But now, with just one degree of separation, and such a personal one, Clarke was completely unprepared.

“I’m- I’m really not in the right state to be with anybody right now,” Clarke expressed honestly.

Lexa leaned away, “Alright, I understand.” But, just before she walked away, Lexa dropped her voice one last time. “Don’t let the white coat fool you. We all have our secrets, Clarke. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wondering about that line pertaining to Lexa's secrets... yeah, here's a glimpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Here it is, chapter two of the Morning After to wrap up ClexaWeek2018 and what an amazing week it's been with all the fics, art, and fanworks. Love this fandom. 
> 
> This was initially a two chapter story, but because of popular demand, I've extended it to three. :)
> 
> Warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse.

One month later.

While wiping down the bar, Clarke looked up at the clock. She sighed, another hour before she was off for the night. Another hour until hand arrived to 11 pm. Usually bustling with customers on the weekend, Tuesday nights were totally dead, and Clarke was fucking bored. Having completed all basic tasks for the following day; put away glasses, sweep, and count the register cash, Clarke contemplated closing early but was reprimanded by her boss previously and didn’t feel like dealing with the bullshit.

Clarke picked up her phone, plugged into the wall next to the register and leaned back on the counter. She idly scrolled through her several social media apps when the sound of the door creaking open drew her attention. She couldn’t help but let the corner of her lip curl up.

“Lexa,” Clarke greeted. “Hi.”

She hadn’t seen Lexa since the day she brought her mom food at the hospital. Normally, Clarke never shied away from anything, but honestly, she didn’t want to pursue Lexa. She didn’t feel ready to play with fire, tempting and dangerous. But apparently, the flame had found her.

“Hi,” Lexa responded as she made her way to the bar in light, fitting jeans, a nice black button-up with the first two buttons undone and casually revealing a white tank top underneath.

Naturally, Clarke offered her a drink from behind the counter, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Vodka soda?”

“Sure,” Clarke nodded, scooping a few cubes of ice into a cup and pouring.

“I take it my mother gave you my whereabouts?” Clarke placed the drink on a napkin with a couple of mini straws.

“Yes…” Lexa replied with the sip of her drink before putting it back down. “She might have mentioned you work here once, or twice… wrote the address on a note in my inbox along with your entire work schedule...” Lexa admitted.

Clarke exhaled, “What else did my mother say?”

Clarke wondered, and wouldn’t have been surprised if her mother had inappropriately divulged her entire past to this brunette. About his death. About her downfall. Boundaries that for some reason only mothers are able to cross.

Lexa simply produced a minute shrug. “That you’re single and would love for you and me to date. Suffice it to say, I very much agree with her.”

“Lexa,” Clarke huffed, “there are plenty of women in this city.”

“I know there are plenty of women in this city. Why not you?”

_Because I got in a car accident that killed my boyfriend. I blame myself, am not over it, dropped out of law school in the process, and my life is a hot mess right now._

Clarke’s mouth hung agape, wanting to speak, but couldn’t. Memories of the accident and his lifeless body resurfaced. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be that person again whom she lost sight of—the loving, giving, tender person, full of passion and care.

There was little she cared about these days.

“Can we just… talk about something else?” Clarke replied. “If you’re here to just hit on me, please leave.”

Somehow, that struck a chord with Lexa, “Alright.” And immediately toned the conversation down to a lighter, casual topic. “Did you grow up around here?”

Clarke nodded in appreciation of Lexa’s willingness to drop the passes. “You?”

“Sherman Oaks.”

“Sherman Oaks, just outside of LA?”

Lexa nodded.

Clarke was familiar with the suburbs of Los Angeles, having visited several cousins in the area once or twice a year. Sherman Oaks was located Northwest of downtown LA, north of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Bel Air- a nice area of LA. Very nice.

 _Great._ Not only was Lexa smart, confident, and sexy, but judging from that part of LA, she, or at least her parents were loaded.

Except as their conversation continued, touching on basic subjects in television and books, Clarke found Lexa to be quite humble. A perfect balance of poise and modesty. Additionally, Lexa was surprisingly easy to talk to, green eyes large and inviting, and well, all of Lexa easy to look at.

“What time do you close?” Lexa eyed at the clock behind Clarke.

Clarke peered over her shoulder, the clock read 11:52 pm.

“Oh shit, like 50 minutes ago,” Clarke said, oblivious to time since Lexa strolled in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you,” said Lexa.

“It’s fine. I was… bored anyway. I um… I should close up.”

Lexa nodded, sliding off the barstool with keys jingling in hand. “Good night, Clarke, it was nice talking.”

“You too. Bye.” Clarke’s eyes followed the brunette out the door.

/

The following Tuesday, Lexa returned to the bar several hours earlier than before, around 8 pm.

“So… am I to expect you every Tuesday night?” Clarke greeted.

Lexa took a seat at a vacant barstool. While the establishment wasn’t empty—occupied with a few lingering patrons, Lexa had Clarke mostly to herself.

“I have Tuesdays off,” Lexa replied, “it’s my one night out.”

Clarke shot her a skeptical look. Lexa easily deflected and eyed past Clarke through the wide windows behind her; a perfect view of the bay with the traffic of small boats and entertainment of sea lions rolling on the empty docks.

“I like the view here,” Lexa said.

Clarke crossed her arms, though Lexa was eyeing the unarguable nice view behind her, stared the brunette down for the double intended sentence.

“And… I like the drinks here. The vodka soda you served me last week was life-changing,” Lexa said with sarcasm.

That, got Clarke to chuckle, “Speaking of which, the same?”

“Actually,” Lexa scanned the display of taps, “I’ll do the seasonal Sierra Nevada.”

Clarke nodded and proceeded to pour.

“Kitchen closes at nine,” Clarke revealed out of habit. “Menu?”

“Please.”

Clarke served Lexa her drink along with a menu, sneaking a quick glance at Lexa’s eyes at the added proximity.

“Any recommendations?” Lexa asked as she skimmed menu.

“Burgers are always a good bet, they don’t fuck those up too often.”

Lexa laughed in response and Clarke found herself smiling along.

“Any of the chowders are good, though it comes from a giant can. Don’t ask me where. And the only thing they hand make here are the crab pretzels.”

“Crab pretzel?”

“Like the title suggests, pretzel with crab,” Clarke quipped.

Lexa glanced up from her menu, “Do you always treat your customers this way?”

Clarke met her stare, “Only the ones I like.”

It got an eyebrow raise from Lexa, “Oh, so you do like me?”

“Tolerate,” Clarke deadpanned.

Lexa gave a small chuckle, “Well, then I’ll take that, and an order of this crab pretzel please.”

For the most part, Lexa sat quietly. Attention predominantly on her phone while nibbling on her pretzel as Clarke wiped down tables, pushed in chairs, and reset condiments. Ultimately, she kept Clarke’s company to closing yet again.

In easy small talk, Clarke learned that Lexa worked the 12-hour night shift, 3 pm to 3 am, and preferred to maintain her graveyard hours during her day off.

For the next few weeks, Lexa became Clarke’s Tuesday night regular, placing herself at the bar and occasionally ordering food with a book or iPad in hand. Lexa sat in silence as Clarke worked. Though, as customers dwindled, their conversations bloomed and began to stretch out into the wee hours.

Clarke found herself sitting at the bar well past closing. To midnight, one or two am. Lexa’s scholarly range was nothing shy of phenomenal, which encouraged Clarke to reach deep into her own intellect. It was rich, engaging, and challenging.

/

Approaching their seventh week together, Clarke found herself looking forward to Tuesdays, finishing the book Lexa had leant her and was eager to share thoughts. If this was Lexa’s way of wooing her, Clarke admitted defeat. She found herself smiling more often, speaking from the heart, and at times, passionately debating a position against Lexa as if she were back in law school. Their disagreements were always in good nature, the “agree to disagree” kind.

“Obviously the first moon landing was fake!” Clarke defended her opinion.

“Absolutely not. That hoax documentary itself was a hoax.”

“No way, didn’t you see the American flag, waving in a none atmospheric environment!”

“Because it’s possible. Not from the atmosphere, but undulating movement when Armstrong pierced the moon with the pole. Have you ever been to space?” Lexa questioned sarcastically.

“Well,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “No, but next time there’s a rocket to space, I’ll make sure to get on that. Let you know firsthand,” Clarke replied as she folded silverware into napkins in preparation for the following day.

Lexa was sitting across from her in the booth, modestly helping Clarke roll utensils. They reached the end of the pile, stacking what was more than needed for the next day, which signified the end of their night.

“Well,” Clarke began to stand, picking up the small, overfilled grey tub, “I’ll see you next week?”

Lexa stood, walking Clarke to the edge of the bar between the register and exit. “Yes, see you next week Clarke.”

There was a brief moment of eye contact, a pause ideal for a departing kiss. A first kiss. Clarke wasn’t going lie to herself—she wanted it, but Lexa was patient and never went beyond light flattery in conversation.

Clarke’s eyes lingered on Lexa’s before they flit down to the brunette’s lips, another second and the moment would be over. And somehow, Clarke let it pass and Lexa gracefully stepped away in a slight bowing gesture, “Good night, Clarke.”

Clarke pursed her lips as the door shut. Removing her half-apron, she still didn’t feel ready to date Lexa, to date anybody, though she hadn’t gone out drinking in over a month. More than a month, almost two. At minimum, she needed to return to school, reapply herself and start caring about society again—start contributing to society in the way she wanted. The way she intended. And just like that, she decided.

The following morning, Clarke logged onto her student portal. She left school in good standing and re-enrollment for the following quarter at UC Berkeley was a simple click of a mouse. The school was understanding about Clarke’s situation and generously placed her status on an indefinite hold.

Inexplicably, or not, Clarke found herself eager and excited to tell Lexa. Let the brunette know she’d be going back to school. Except, there was one problem. Clarke didn’t have Lexa’s number. Ironically, it was pure organic interaction between the two from the morning Clarke nakedly wrapped her arms around Lexa. Sure, maybe Clarke could befriend her on Facebook or send Lexa a direct message. But the news held higher importance and stature, beyond text. Clarke wanted to tell her in person. She contemplated dropping by the hospital later today, surely Lexa would be there. Hell, Clarke still had Lexa’s home location on her phone, saved from her previous ride locations. But Clarke also found herself in a position she hadn’t been in years. A feeling she didn’t remember having.

Clarke was nervous.

Nervous to go see Lexa.

She hadn’t even shared the story about _him_. About Mike. That was his name. Michael. Clarke could think of his name now, think about him without guilt overpowering her. She was ready to tell Lexa about him, reveal her hesitations and sole cause of failure.

Next week, thought Clarke, feeling more open and quite fond of Lexa. They could swap numbers, chat more frequently, and Clarke toyed with the idea of going out on a date. A real date with Lexa, and it made her smile. A smile that lasted several hours until the ringing of Clarke’s phone interrupted her reverie.

It was her mom.

“Hey, mom.”

“Hey! So, um, I don’t mean to be snoopy, but I got an email from the university bursar? It was automatic, and I just wanted to make sure. Did you... did you re-enroll in school honey?”

“I did. Just, this morning,” Clarke replied.

“Oh, that’s wonderful Clarke! I’m so proud of you. May I ask what brought on this sudden onset of… encouragement?”

Clarke could _feel_ her mother resisting the urge to squeal over the phone.

“Um- yeah. I’ve been doing a little better- a lot better and-” Here it goes, her mother’s about to freak out, “And I’ve been… talking to Lexa.”

She smiled as she said her name.

Lexa.

“Oh, I knew it!” Clarke heard over the line and was tempted to put the phone down, spare herself from listening to her mom’s lengthy “I told you so” but she didnt and her mom continued to babble. “I knew with Lexa’s past and after I told her about yours, she’d be a good match for you dear—that her situation would help resolve yours.”

Her mother’s words sent Clarke’s mind spinning.

_Wait._

_What?_

_You told her?_

_About Mike?_

_About why the way I am?_

_Lexa’s situation?_

“Um, excuse me, but… which situation of hers… are you referring?” Clarke sought clarification.

“Well, you know, with her losing her younger brother and dropping out of law school herself and, technically a fully recovered alcoholic.”

_Alcoholic? And Clarke was pouring her drinks, weekly?!_

“Didn’t she talk to you about that dear? Isn’t that how you two, hit it off?” Abby replied, unsuspecting.

_I’m not an alcoholic, am I? Maybe in my mom’s eyes I am._

Clarke feigned remembrance, “Oh yeah, right. Yeah, she um- told me all about that. So… she knew about… Mike, and what happened.”

“Of course.”

Mothers can be so inconsiderate sometimes—a lot of times. And this was one of them. Clarke couldn’t fathom what reason her mother had to share her story like this- and Abby’s next sentence explained it all. “Lexa’s interview for getting into my genetics residency program stemmed from the loss of her younger brother. Didn’t you find her story so touching dear?”

“Um... uh, yeah. It’s absolutely… unforgettable,” Clarke sputtered, though she had nothing to forget. Unfamiliar with Lexa’s past, but also beginning to register that Lexa knew about hers their entire duration.

_Why didn’t Lexa tell me?_

“Oh, I’m so happy to hear you two have been talking. Lexa’s been working the night shifts, so I don’t see her often and meant to ask. Sounds like it’s going great!”

Clarke felt… in a sense, betrayed—that Lexa was aware of her tragic history. And, a little used. Was she Lexa’s project to try and put back together? Clarke didn’t need that, didn’t need somebody’s pity and remorse. Except that it worked, which frustrated her more. Clarke took pride in her autonomy, believed that she would eventually find her own way out. But Lexa had circumvented it all, and nonetheless, Clarke’s self-confidence was hurt. It was really all she had left and was operating on. Pride. Or stubbornness. Maybe a bit more of the latter, but still.

“Yeah… yeah, real great. Look um, I have a few errands to run, can I talk to you later mom?” Clarke said, feeling a knot rise in her throat.

“Sure honey, I’ll talk to you later.”

Clarke was fuming and she couldn’t wait. It was approximately half past noon and there was a good chance Lexa was home and Clarke bolted out her door.

/

Lexa was starting breakfast. Yes, breakfast at 12:30 pm. Depending on the shift, she typically got home around three in the morning and slept until about eleven. Sometimes, she’d fit in a morning workout, usually a jog, and did so this morning, showering afterwards and proceeded to prepare breakfast; her favorite meal of the day. It was never too late for breakfast; eggs, bacon, avocado toast and fresh fruit were on her mind.

As she closed the fridge, her eyes fell on an old picture of Liam smiling on a bicycle. Liam was her younger brother. It had been close to six years since his passing and still, Lexa stopped to remember, and as wistful as it was, wanted more time with him.

Liam was diagnosed shortly after Lexa’s acceptance into law school. A delayed genetic disorder that triggered at this young age of nine. It required vigorous blood transfusions- her blood, a sibling match. So, Lexa dutifully split her time between school and the hospital, donating pint after pint for little Liam. Unfortunately, her blood wasn’t enough and as the year dragged on, his condition worsened. Lexa didn’t understand, she offered to donate more.

“Just take more of my blood,” she said.

But it didn’t matter.

Gradually, Lexa stopped going to school and spent her days at Liam’s bedside- until there wasn’t a bedside to be next to anymore.

After his death, she turned to alcohol to forget. Liked the way it numbed her senses, her feelings, and let the days blend into nothingness. It was clearly the worst time of her life; a law school dropout turned alcoholic.

Though it wasn’t just the alcohol, but sex too. Lots of sex. Mindless fucking to try and feel something. Anything.

Lexa had lost her desire to be.

Lost her will to care.

Lost sight of herself.

Until one day, she was partly passed out, sitting drunk on the sidewalk in the streets of Santa Monica in shambles when a couple walked by and the boyfriend put a dollar at her feet. A fucking dollar, as if she was homeless. She wasn’t, her parents were both part of the film industry and they were very well off. She had a place of her own, or could just go home. But, Lexa might as well have been homeless, because she felt like it. No place to go, nowhere to be.

“Don’t give her a dollar, Dave,” the girlfriend criticized quietly, Lexa heard, as the couple walked by.

“What, they say 40% of homeless are mentally ill, and the other percent are old war veterans. Fucking sad, it’s not her fault she doesn’t have the mental capacity to contribute in the way our society is structured,” he replied back to the girlfriend.

He had a point. Except Lexa didn’t fit the description. She wasn’t particularly religious, but if she was, she considered the occurrence that god came to her that day in the form of a dollar.

“Hey!” Lexa got up and picked up the dollar to give it back. “I don’t need this,” and shoved it back into the gentleman, ‘Dave’s’, chest. “You’re wrong you know! You’re just… fucking wrong!” she yelled.

The girlfriend looked a little afraid, tucking herself behind Dave’s shoulder probably because of what he just said about mental illness and Lexa could have been a mental case.

“Woah, sorry,” he apologized, taking the dollar back and began to back away cautiously.

“Hey, fuck you, for making assumptions!” Lexa blurted.

They turned and scurried away as Lexa continued to shout, “I was on my way to being lawyer ya know! I could have been a politician! CEO! Whatever!” Lexa threw her empty bottle and the glass shattered within its brown paper bag. “You don’t know jack shit about me!”

 _That_ was rock bottom. She could have been anything. Lexa knew and understood her potential well, destroyed when she watched Liam’s potential die.

But, after that day, Lexa got her shit together. Once she put her mind to focus, there was no stopping her. Lexa recovered from her excessive boozing and successfully returned to work. At first, part-time at a local coffee shop substituted with oddball jobs such as washing boats at marinas, ushering at venues, and picking out online grocery orders for those too busy (or too rich) to step foot in the store. Finally, Lexa was back to self sustenance, no longer living off her parents’ credit cards. Though they didn’t care, Lexa took Liam’s death harder than either of them and let their daughter mourn, however unhealthy.

When Lexa considered going back to school, she wasn’t interested in law anymore and Lexa shifted to the one subject that could have saved Liam’s life, and potentially save others like her little brother. Genetics research. To be a doctor. A children’s doctor. Sure, Lexa had to take a multitude of prerequisites- biochemistry, organic chemistry, applied physics, and human physiology, but she rebounded with unstoppable tenacity.

While her parents offered to help financially, Lexa declined and instead, applied for grants and scholarships. Hundreds of them. It was surprising the number of grants and scholarships that go unused due to lack of applicants. Suffice it to say, with her added side jobs, Lexa supported herself through medical school. She had already wasted enough of her parents’ money and sought a type of self redemption in the process.

Now, four years later, after successfully completing UCLA medical school at the top of her class, Lexa was well on her way.

/

A knock on the door brought Lexa out of her recollection. The knock was rushed, urgent even and Lexa couldn’t fathom who it’d be. She didn’t buy anything from Amazon recently, so it certainly wasn’t the mail person or UPS driver. One of the neighbors maybe, looking to borrow eggs or milk?

_Does anybody even do that anymore?_

Lexa opened the door, surprised to find Clarke.

“Clarke? Um, hi.”

Clarke’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed in an unhappy expression and defensive body language.

_Why does she look mad?_

“Uh- what-” Lexa was a little caught off guard, no doubt, “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Can I-”

“You _knew_?” Clarke interrupted.

Lexa immediately understood what Clarke was referring. Abby had disclosed Clarke’s entire past. And with a similar history, Lexa didn’t feel it right assume her own experience justified the knowledge of Clarke’s, so she remained silent.

Though Lexa didn’t shy away from the knowledge, admitting a soft, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

“I- It didn’t feel it right. And figured you would tell me when ready,” Lexa replied in a calm and even tone.

“Well I think that defeats the purpose now,” Clarke said angrily. “So, what am I to you? Some project? A contrivance? For you to what, patch up and feel good about yourself?! Huh? Boost your redemption arc on your way to helping others, _Doctor_ Woods?”

Though Lexa did see a little, maybe a lot of herself in Clarke, with intent to help, Clarke had mistaken her intentions.

Lexa took a step closer, a step into Clarke’s personal space that made Clarke uneasy at the distance. Additionally, Lexa’s eyes transfixed on hers; green eyes honest yet wanting.

“No Clarke,” Lexa replied gently, inches away from Clarke’s face. Then, Lexa moved in even closer, so close Clarke could feel the warmth of her breath, her mouth.

“Can’t a girl, just… like another girl?” Lexa whispered so close that the edges of Lexa’s lips ghosted over Clarke’s.

Clarke’s eyes flickered down, though their faces were so close she just saw Lexa’s cheek, and roamed back up to Lexa’s eyes. They weren’t begging for forgiveness, but there was a gentle ask in Lexa’s irises. An apologetic look. _I’m sorry,_ Lexa’s eyes said to her. _Will you forgive me?_

“Yes…” Clarke said in a shuddering whisper as her heart kicked into overdrive and began thump so hard it reverberated through her ears.

Lexa’s tongue pushed out slightly, tip escaping through her teeth and hanging between her lips, licking before she retracted it to swallow.

“Good…” Lexa said, barely audible and leaned in to press her lips against Clarke’s.

Clarke’s breath surged in an immediate intake and eyes closed at the sensation. The kiss was soft and gentle, but made her chest burst. Made her _feel._ And god did it feel good.

Lexa pulled back, ever so slightly, bumping noses to change angle and returned with a teasing flicker of tongue. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t intrusive, but welcoming that made Clarke want more.   

Clarke kissed back, though unsure when she started to clutch the chest of Lexa’s shirt. 

“Um,” Lexa smiled as if recalling a funny joke or moment. It was the latter. “Would you care to come in? Join me for breakfast?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffice it to say, this fic won't be keeping it's "T" rating in the next chapter...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke joins Lexa for "breakfast"... or should I say brunch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, the last chapter of this fic - which was supposed to be a oneshot for Clexa week! Evidently, I'm incapable of oneshots and maintaining a T-rating. 
> 
> More cringe-worthy times ahead. Enjoy!

If breakfast meant that Clarke was going to find herself sitting on Lexa’s kitchen counter with Lexa between her legs, then _god yes._ Because that’s where she found herself.

Just as Clarke pushed her way in with a crushing kiss, Lexa scooped her up and roughly planted her on the marble surface, kissing with hunger and hands tugging on Clarke’s t-shirt. Fuck, was Lexa a phenomenal kisser.

_Why did I deny myself this for months?_

Clarke chased Lexa’s mouth, alternating between sucking on Lexa’s tongue and succulent lower lip. In an instant, Clarke’s basic layers of clothes became too much and she pulled her own shirt overhead, carelessly tossing it aside with an immediate need for more contact. She squeezed her legs around Lexa’s torso, linking her ankles to pull the brunette tight and close.

“Lexa…” Clarke panted as Lexa parted lips and trailed her way down Clarke’s jaw, down her neck, and along her pulse point. “Lexa…” Clarke repeated with more intent this time.

“Mmm…” Lexa hummed in response, attention still 100% on Clarke’s pulse, sucking on her jugular.

“Lexa… I… think your toast is burning,” Clarke mouthed, voice husky and resonating mid-throat.

Lexa traced her way back to Clarke’s lips with green pupils blown so wide in lust and appetite, it sent a jolt directly to Clarke’s core.

“Then let them _burn_ ,” Lexa snarled.  

“Fuck Lexa,” Clarke said through gritted teeth and yanked Lexa in for another smashing kiss, rough and raw.

Lexa was simultaneously something else and everything else. She exhumed confidence with her charm but displayed innocence with her patience, and all balanced with the seduction in her prowess.

It turned Clarke all kinds of on.

Lexa dipped low, dragging her smoking tongue down Clarke’s cleavage and deftly unhooking Clarke’s bra, letting it fall to the ground. Lexa then took Clarke’s left nipple into her mouth while cupping the weight of Clarke’s breast to give them both equal attention.

“Fuck…” Clarke’s head bobbed back with an added arch to her back, moaning. Loud.

Without warning, the front door knob twisted with an unlocking click and opened.

“Hey Lex, I forgot my – holy shit!” cried Anya, shying her eyes away.

“Oh fuck!” Clarke responded and desperately searched for any article nearby to cover her top. Except there was nothing, so she gripped Lexa’s head closer and palmed her other breast. “Oh my god… why does this keep happening…?” Clarke exhaled at herself.

“Clarke…?” Anya squinted in recognition of Clarke’s voice.

Lexa remained silent, mostly because Clarke had a death grip in her hair, pressing Lexa’s face into her left breast and well, Lexa really couldn’t complain.

“Hey… uh- Anya…” Clarke said awkwardly, still trying to control the spillage of her left boob in her hand. _Though, does it even matter?_ It’s not like Anya hadn’t seen her before.

“Hey…” Anya averted her eyes. “Uh, Lexa had mentioned… you two were talking,” Anya said, speaking to Clarke as if Lexa wasn’t in the room. Anya’s knowledge helped diffuse the situation—that she at least knew.

“Yep…” Clarke pursed her lips together and nodded.

“Well um, suffice it to say, looks like it’s going… well,” Anya said with a high inflection in her voice.

“Mm-hm,” Clarke hummed.

“I just um— forgot my phone this morning…” Anya began towards her room. “I’ll just be a second,” and hastily walked past the small kitchen island.

They wait in silence and Clarke chewed her lip in humiliation with ears burning and neck flaring. Fortunately, it took less than a few seconds before Anya emerged. “Got it,” she said, walking briskly past, “I was um, going to stay for lunch, clearly you’re busy Lex,” and just before exiting. “Also, I just cleaned the kitchen yesterday. So if you’re going to fuck her on that counter, sanitize that shit afterward,” and shifted tones. “See ya around Clarke. Bye!”

“Mmmhmm,” Lexa murmured, stifled by Clarke’s bosom, and held up her hand in a partial wave goodbye.

Just as Anya slammed the door shut, they burst into laughter.

“Stop laughing Lexa!”

“You’re laughing too,” Lexa said with an added kiss.

“Mmm…” Clarke kissed back, humming with Lexa’s added tongue.

“God, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” Lexa kissed again. “Like that morning,” she continued to speak between kisses, “when I first saw you,” kiss, “naked,” kiss, “fuck Clarke I wanted you right there.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Clarke said with a deeper husk that had Lexa picking Clarke up in a single swoop, gripping Clarke’s thigh in one hand and the round of her ass in the other.

For her lithe frame, Lexa was deceptively strong. Clarke didn’t consider herself particularly small… or light, but Lexa carried her with robust. Lexa’s embrace felt strong and safe, easing her down onto the mattress.

Lexa’s sheets smelled _incredibly_ good; a blend of laundry soap and shampoo. Lexa herself smelled even better, freshly showered with damp hair and clean skin,  smooth and soft.

Clarke reached to pull Lexa’s shirt over head, content to find Lexa bra-less underneath. One less step, one less barrier, and Lexa proceeded to press her weight into Clarke. Bare chests, stomachs, and breasts rubbed. Lexa was hot like a flaming torch. Skin glowing warm and red, like coal.

“God Lexa… you feel so good,” Clarke moaned and closed her eyes while raking her fingertips along Lexa’s back, scratching and stroking.

Lexa continued to kiss her. Kissing Clarke everywhere; around her neck, down her chest, back up to her lips with periodic bites and sucks. Lexa was tracing fire on Clarke. Marking her and making Clarke hers. Clarke could feel the burn between her legs, wetness spiking each time Lexa pinched her nipple, followed by soothing gradual rolls. Clarke canted her hips up in a search for more friction.

“Lex— I need… more,” Clarke exhaled with a whine.

Attending to her whine, Clarke felt Lexa reach down to unbutton Clarke’s jeans. All too eager, Clarke lifted her hips to help Lexa, wiggling to shed her jeans and underwear in a single motion.

As soon as Lexa tugged the last of Clarke’s pants off, she proceeded to strip her own sweatpants and in an instant, Lexa was back on top. Both in total nakedness and reveled in the satisfaction of complete skin-on-skin, rubbing and grinding.

But it was the press of Lexa’s hipbone, the pressure, and contact that elicited another needy moan from Clarke. Had Clarke pushing down on Lexa’s shoulders and Lexa easily obliged. Lexa trailed her tongue down past Clarke’s cute belly and dipped into her bikini line before licking a single stripe up Clarke’s center.

“Oh fuck! Yes!” the pleasured cries from Clarke began to echo the room at a constant.

Lexa’s mouth was on her and working her into a puddled mess. Clarke was already wet as fuck but could feel it running down her ass and staining Lexa’s sheets. Though Lexa didn’t seem to give a single fuck, relentless in her pursuit of Clarke’s pleasure; licking, sucking, and lapping in perfect patterns.

Without warning, Clarke felt the immediate fulfilling sensation of Lexa inside her. She almost came that instant. _Almost._ Lexa must have known exactly what she was doing, edging Clarke and only gave Clarke enough to work her up. Making it last instead of pushing her over in single thrust; Clarke was now sure Lexa was more than capable of.

Lexa’s fingers didn’t curl but glided painstakingly slow. The unbearable tease had Clarke fisting the sheets, eminently close to disaster.

It was now pure “fucks” and “Lexa’s” that sounded the room, seeped out into the living room, and maybe reverberated through to the apartment next door.

“Fuck Lexa fuck!”

Clarke was rocking her hips in cadence with Lexa’s thrusts. And, as if Lexa was playing her like strings on a guitar, curled and pressed her fingertips and Clarke came on her command. Lexa hit every chord.

One final “fuck” spilled from Clarke in her shuddering fall over the precipice. Except, Lexa held her there, airborne, and Clarke swore it was the longest orgasm of her life; eyeballs flopping back with every muscle taut.

What came after was even better, the _way_ Lexa coaxed her down. A careful downshift that allowed Clarke to catch her breath and gradually open her eyes.

And when Lexa was done, locked eyes with Clarke as she kissed her way back up, retraced the path she took down until she lingered just above Clarke’s lips.

With a light tug, Clarke pulled Lexa in for a kiss, tasting her glossy self off Lexa’s mouth; Lexa’s lips swollen.

“ _God_ Lexa,” Clarke sighed followed by a gulp.

Clarke brushed a few errant blonde strands from her own forehead, stuck from her beading sweat. Lexa was still planting kisses, lighter now, pecks on Clarke’s cheek, jawline and neck.

“You’re amazing,” Lexa said.

Clarke laughed, “You just gave me the orgasm of my life and _I’m_ amazing?”

Lexa let out an amused exhale, her green eyes sparkled with affection. “I like you, Clarke Griffin.”

“Mm, I like you too.” Clarke gave Lexa a quick once over with her eyes, “Speaking of which…” and dropped her left hand down between them.

The tips of Clarke’s finger barely grazed Lexa, but it had the brunette closing her eyes and exhaling a gasp at the sensation.

Clarke shifted to motion Lexa’s legs open to straddle her, and just as Lexa did, Clarke couldn’t help but glide immediately in. Clarke was met with zero resistance—all slick and silky warmth. Heard her name spill from Lexa’s lips and began to slowly pump in as Lexa rode her fingers down.

Lexa was gorgeous and Clarke kissed Lexa’s plump parted lips with equal zest and hunger. Particularly liked the way Lexa whimpered and moaned. Though, as much as Clarke liked kissing Lexa, wanted Lexa in her mouth more.

Hooking her right leg around, Clarke rolled them around so she was on top. Still working her fingers, Clarke released Lexa’s lips to descend down. She paused at Lexa’s breasts, needing to know how they felt. Lexa’s breasts were smaller and fit perfectly in her hand. Clarke cupped one in her right while sucking and on the other. She relished the way Lexa’s nipple pebbled in her mouth until Lexa gave a long, whining groan.

“Clarke…” she said. 

As much as Clarke wanted to tease, lap every inch of Lexa’s hot body, a slim and natural tone, she surrendered to Lexa’s urgent hands, pushing down on her shoulders.

Once she was between Lexa’s legs, Clarke flattened her tongue and gave Lexa a stern press just above her working fingers. Clarke’s slight embarrassment for leaving a mess on Lexa’s sheets had since been erased, Lexa was coating her face and Clarke savored it. Licking, sucking, _drinking._

Lexa was addicting, pure cocaine, and Clarke could only hum in revelation. Granted, Clarke has had a lot of sex but something so special about Lexa underneath her. The way Lexa stroked the loose blonde hairs out her face, the clutch and release of Lexa’s hands on her head, the awe of watching Lexa’s pleasured movements. Clarke had never felt so lucky and gave Lexa her all. Curled with each thrust, licked with each suck.

And she was rewarded with Lexa’s undoing; a rush of fresh warmth hit her fingers and Clarke rode Lexa out as long as she could—until Lexa gave her a gentle tug up, sensitive and overstimulated.

This time, it was Lexa’s turn to kiss herself off Clarke’s lips. Both their essences intertwined with tongues gliding and kissing away their erratic breaths to a calm stop.

They laid there, peaceful and quiet with Clarke’s head resting under Lexa’s chin.

At some point, Clarke fell asleep. Unsure in her limbo state of consciousness, the nap could have been two minutes or two hours when Clarke’s eyes reopened in a startle, worried about when Lexa had to leave for work.

“How long was I asleep?” Clarke said.

“It’s okay,” Clarke heard Lexa say. Lexa was apparently wide awake and traced soothing strokes along Clarke’s back. “You were only asleep for a little bit,” and proceeded with the single comment. “Cute.”

Clarke peeled her cheek off Lexa’s chest and propped herself up on an elbow. “When do you leave?”

“I have about an hour,” Lexa said with fingers running through Clarke’s sleepy sex hair.

“So um…” Clarke bashed her eyelashes, guilty to admit, “when do I get to see you again? ‘Cause I hate to wait till next Tuesday.”

Lexa smiled. “What about tonight? I normally break between seven and eight, if you want to stop by the hospital?”

Clarke nodded a happy, “Sure,” before laying her head back down.

As she traced lazy circles along Lexa’s skin, Clarke’s mind wandered about the woman next to her and accidentally recalled her mother’s comment.

“Lexa?”

“Hm?”

There was no simple way to put it, plus Clarke was never one to sugar coat things.

“When I was talking to my mom, um- were you… an alcoholic?”

Silence, and for a second Clarke began to panic.

 _Why would that be a good question to ask? Now_?

But Lexa made no gesture to shy away. Clarke wanted to look up, gauge Lexa’s expression, except she was afraid of the result.

Lexa spoke calmly. Collected.

“Did I abuse alcohol,” she said as a statement and less a question. “Yes. Was I dependent on it. No.” And added a fact, or maybe it was just Lexa’s string of thoughts initiated by her occupation. “Did you know alcohol dependence is largely genetic? I don’t know if I consider myself lucky or not, but apparently, my lineage isn’t apt for dependence. So when I decided to stop drinking, I just… stopped.”

Clarke looked up, “What do you mean, lucky or not?”

Lexa peered down, recalling a sad memory before responding, “I would have easily traded for alcohol dependence in my genealogy. But, the Woods’ family tree is prone to a genetic disease that lies dormant in females, but not so much for males,” said Lexa. “Especially when both parents carry the marker. They didn’t know to test for it at the time.”

Now, Clarke understood Lexa’s meaning. Her late younger brother.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said with utmost sincerity. “We can stop talking. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay Clarke,” Lexa interrupted with reassurance. “I know your story, it’s only fair you know mine. I don’t mind.”

Clarke nodded. She had one last question.

“What was his name?”

“Liam.”

Clarke leaned in to kiss Lexa as a closing gesture for the deepened conversation.

They lounged for another fifteen minutes or so—until Lexa could no longer ignore her grumbling stomach. The time now past her usual breakfast hour and into brunch.

“So, am I to expect breakfast each time I come over?” Clarke said with a bite her avocado toast.

“Only if you’ll continue waiting on me Tuesdays,” Lexa said with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“Mmm,” Clarke wanted to speak, but couldn’t with her mouth full and chewed to a half-swallow. “That reminds me,” and licked avocado off the tip of her finger, “I wanted to tell you I re-enrolled in school.”

Lexa’s eyes widened in merriment, “That’s great Clarke, when do you start?”

“The quarter starts next month, so I won’t be at the restaurant after that.”

“Aw... and I was just starting to make progress with the waitress.”

“Shut up…”

Lexa smiled and kissed Clarke on the cheek while clearing her plate.

They leave Lexa’s place with hands linked and to run into Lexa’s neighbor, a retired gentlemen coming from the opposite direction who batted them a dubious glance.

While Clarke shied from his glance; likely a result of her screaming “fucks”, Lexa evidently didn’t have that type of shame.

“Afternoon Mr. Barrett,” Lexa said, loud and proud.

He gave a mere nod in response as they walked to the elevator. They break into a giggle as the silver double doors dinged closed and Clarke tugged Lexa in for another kiss.

“God you are something else,” Clarke said between kisses.

They stepped out to the sidewalk and while Lexa usually walked to work, didn’t have the time to spare today and awaited her Lyft ride.

“See you in a few hours?” Lexa said.

Kiss.

“Yeah.”

Just as they part, Clarke remembered, “Lexa, wait-”

Clarke pulled out her phone, “I um,” she chuckled, “I don’t have your number,” and handed Lexa her phone.

“Oh,” Lexa took the phone and proceeded to punch in her digits with a smile. “Here,” and handed Clarke’s phone back with a departing peck on the cheek.

“Bye Clarke.”

“Bye.”

/

The remainder of the afternoon passed by agonizingly slow for Clarke. So slow, she cleaned. Fucking cleaned. Swept, vacuumed, took the trash out, ran the dishwasher and topped off the list of chores with a load of laundry. Considering the size of Clarke’s apartment, it took all of one hour.

Great.

Growing impatient, Clarke retrieved her phone. One hour was a deplorable amount of time, but she simply couldn’t resist texting Lexa. Plus, Clarke wasn’t in the realm of lying to herself anymore. It’d been a long time since she crushed on someone like this. Like Lexa.

_Clarke: hey, want me to grab something for dinner?_

Lexa’s reply wasn’t instantaneous and Clarke slumped with disappointment. Recalling her mother’s schedule at the hospital, Clarke was sure Lexa didn’t have ample free time to be texting.

Just as Clarke kicked back on her couch and flipped on the television for something _,_ her phone pinged.

_Lexa: or we can eat at the cafeteria here, either way_

_Clarke: i practically grew up in that caf, i’ll pick something up_

Clarke was in the middle of generating the various food options within her neighborhood when Lexa was first to admit.

_Lexa: i cant stop thinking about you_

That daft smile Clarke already had painted on her face since she left Lexa’s only got bigger, and she quickly deleted her string of restaurants for a simple:

_Clarke: me too_

_Clarke: i live by several asian places_

_Clarke: thai, chinese, or sushi?_

_Lexa: chinese sounds good_

_Lexa: general tso’s chicken?_

_Clarke: got it_

_Lexa: thanks_

_Lexa: hey, gotta go_

_Lexa: see you in a bit :)_

_Clarke: see you :)_

Clarke set her phone down on the coffee table with anticipation bubbling and about to boil over. She set out to accomplish other tasks to keep busy; rotated laundry, drafted her two-week work notice, and even browsed law books to prepare for her return to school.

Finally, fucking finally, it was close enough to justify getting ready. Clarke took an extra long shower—used that pricier bottle of shampoo and conditioner. After blow-drying her hair, Clarke opted for a mid-thigh skirt with intent to impress, put on some light makeup, and was out the door.

“Hey Margret,” Clarke greeted at the hospital front desk.

“Hey, Clarke! Been another few months. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good actually.”

“Are you here to see your mother?” Margret asked.

“Um, no. My mother’s still here? I thought she worked till six,” said Clarke as she jotted down the time on the visitor’s log: 6:45 pm.  

“She’s in a board meeting,” Margret replied. “Some new investors are here.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Clarke said sarcastically as she recalled her childhood during her mother’s past board meetings. Clarke would be stuck at the hospital waiting for hours. The definition of boredom. “But no, I’m actually here for Lexa Woods.”

“Oh, Doctor Woods—what a sweetheart,” Margret said as she handed Clarke the visitor pass.

“Thanks, Margret.”

Clarke walked the familiar path to her destination with takeout in hand, and as she passed by the children’s wing, spotted Lexa through the glass window.

Lexa was with a small group. The children giggled as Lexa entertained them by listening to the heartbeat of a stuffed animal through her stethoscope. One child, a little girl maybe six or seven years old clambered onto Lexa’s shoulders.

The sight was so adorable, fuck. Clarke was done right then and there.  

No doubt, Lexa was expecting her and caught a glimpse of Clarke through the window. Lexa’s smile didn’t change, but the added twinkle of acknowledgment in her green eyes was all Clarke needed.

Clarke waited with easy patience, watching Lexa stand, finish scribbling down the kids’ vitals on a clipboard before exiting.  

“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa said with a polite kiss on the cheek; Clarke was more than happy to accept.

“Hey.”

They began to walk towards the break room, both with permanent grins on their faces when Lexa abruptly turned, opened the door to a vacant patient room, and pulled Clarke in.

Clarke didn’t stand a chance when Lexa pushed her against the wall. Clarke had to drop the food to brace herself with an unexpected gasp.

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you,” Lexa panted and leaned in with an urgent kiss.

Lexa’s tongue immediately sought entry into her mouth.

It was a heavy make-out session with labored breaths and intermittent nibbles and sucks. Clarke welcomed Lexa’s smooth tongue and caroused the way it skated across her own. Lexa’s hands found purchase on her hips, though that purchase didn’t last long as Lexa started to move with purpose. Clarke felt Lexa’s hand grip her bare thighs and inch upwards underneath her skirt.

“Jesus Clarke,” Lexa mouthed, discovering nothing but skin under Clarke’s skirt. “What are you _doing_ to me?”

You’re damn right Clarke went commando.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” Clarke replied and raised left leg to hook around Lexa’s waist.

Lexa pressed her hips inward in response while reconnecting their tongues. Clearly, this afternoon wasn’t enough, and Clarke could feel the gush of arousal between her legs. Lexa gripped handfuls of her ass, tugging Clarke tight as Clarke moaned into her mouth. Finally, she felt Lexa yank her skirt all the way up and palmed against Clarke’s grind. Clarke was sure she was a slippery mess, dripping across Lexa’s hand as she rocked.

Clarke began to move with more urgency, sought more pressure as she squeezed her left leg tighter against the small of Lexa’s back, and that’s when Lexa slipped inside.

“Fuck!” Clarke exclaimed at the sensation.

“Sshhhh,” Lexa immediately cupped her other hand over Clarke’s mouth, muffling her moans.

Lexa continued to pump in and out of her, moved in sync with Clarke’s jogging hips, building her higher and higher.

In need of more oxygen, Clarke pried her face away from Lexa’s hand with staccato gasps, sucking air.  

“Lexa! Fuck!” Clarke couldn’t help herself.

“Sshhh,” Lexa reminded her, but then proceeded to sink knuckle deep and flick her fingers so fast, Clarke went hurling.

“That’s right baby, you’re gonna come for me _right now_ ,” Lexa whispered—commanded, into her ear.

Clarke buried her face into Lexa’s shoulder, screaming. Just like earlier, Lexa was able to draw her out and milk her until she was utterly spent.

Gently, Lexa pulled out and Clarke dropped her leg. Feeling a little wobbly, Clarke clung to Lexa to catch her breath. She nestled into the crook of Lexa's neck, wiping the spit from the corner of her mouth against Lexa’s white coat.

After a few resting moments, Lexa nudged Clarke’s face up to kiss her.

God the _kissing_. Lexa’s post-sex kissing was remarkable. Clarke was already in love with that aspect. The kisses were softer now, tender with a certain care and sweet nurture. It had Clarke melting in an entirely different way.

No doubt, Clarke wanted to return the favor and began to roam her hands down when the door shot open and an arm snaked its way around to flick on the lights.  

Clarke heard the familiar voice of her mother, “And this is one of our newer rooms…” Abby said, giving a tour to the new investors, and then turned into the room.

Abby’s eyeballs froze wide, gave the deer in the headlights look as she registered her daughter pressed against the adjacent wall.

Clarke supposed it could have been worse, they could have been on the bed in full view of the approaching crowd. Or further, if her mom had entered any earlier, caught Clarke screaming mid-come with her skirt hiked, ass on display, and Lexa’s fingers buried. Lexa was lucky enough to hide her face against the side of Clarke’s neck; Clarke could feel the brunette’s smile.

It was difficult to decipher her mother’s expression. Past the shock, Clarke was sure Abby was elated. Wasn’t this what her mother wanted the entire time? For Clarke to date one of her residents. But in Clarke’s current physical position, here with Lexa, it crossed all kinds of professional and personal barriers.

“Hey mom,” Clarke squeaked.

Abby immediately switched off the lights with a quick 180 spin.

“Actually!” Abby announced into the hallway, “we’ll go to the next room down,” and swiftly guided the small group of visiting investors away.

The door slammed shut and they erupted into laughter.

“Oh my fucking god,” Clarke pressed her face into her palm. “Why?”

Speechless, Lexa simply continued to laugh.

As their laughter subsided, Lexa began to lean away. “C’mon, food’s probably getting cold,” Lexa said.

“Wait, what about you?”

“Clarke, my boss just walked in on me with her daughter, I wouldn’t push my luck.”

Clarke responded with a set of puppy eyes and a pout on her lip.

“Stop that Clarke.” But Lexa couldn’t resist and at least leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see if I can get off work early tonight.”

And there it was again, the same look Clarke caught glimpse of that first day she met Lexa at the hospital. Lexa flashed Clarke a look of hunger. It was dark and seductive, pure sin, and Lexa growled, “Because I’m not nearly done with you.”

/

Two months later.

Clarke had successfully returned to school and with her return, approached a normal social life which no doubt included Raven. Raven was an old classmate that Clarke had lost touch with since Mike’s death, they were mutual friends. When they set up a lunch date, Raven insisted Clarke bring Lexa along.

Arriving at the restaurant first, Clarke admired Lexa’s chivalrous pull of her chair in addition to Lexa’s subtle touches; hand at the small of her back, resting on her thigh, or brush of a blonde lock behind her ear. Sure, Clarke recognized their “honeymoon phase” at two mere months, but the knowledge didn’t prevent her from grinning like a damned fool who just found gold.

Just as they sat, Raven arrived.

“Hey, Clarke!” Raven said and Clarke stood to give her a hug.

“Hey, Rae.”

Raven turned her attention to Lexa. “And you must be Lexa.”

Lexa nodded and extended her hand with a polite smile, “Hi.”

“Nice to _finally_ meet you. Oh my gosh, when I heard Clarke was dating again I couldn’t wait!” Raven aimed her eyes at Clarke, “Which I can’t believe you waited so long to tell me! So…” Raven sat. “How did you two meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for joining me! Now that this is complete, I can make room for some new fics! Be on the lookout for my upcoming Titanic AU - Titanic: The Untold Story. And no, I'm not just going to regurgitate Kate/Leo's story. This will be a Clexa original (to the best of my knowledge). Stay posted!

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @thessclexa


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